


Gratuity (Discontinued)

by Hubris_BNL



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mob leaders!Hamilsquad, Thief!Burr, gangster au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6990142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hubris_BNL/pseuds/Hubris_BNL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Marquis de Lafayette, New York's leading crime boss, and Aaron Burr is sent to steal from him. The job's impossible of course, there's more chance that he'll sprout wings than that he'll make it out of this alive. But his options are slim to none, and he gives it his best shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GRATUITY   
> (n.) a favour or gift, usually in the form of money, given in return for service.

Was Aaron in over his head?

Probably.

He sipped the champagne in his hand idly as his eyes scanned the room. Guests milled about, chatting frivolously to each other about their host, the weather, politics, shit like that, not knowing that they were standing in the home of one of the most notorious crime bosses in New York City.

Getting into the party had been relatively simple; steal an invitation off one of the lesser known guests, leave him bound and gagged for the others to take care of, and then slip in unnoticed. Simple. However, the next part… _w_ _asn’t_ going to be so easy.

He weaved through the crowd, silent and stealthy as per his M.O, waiting for the moment to slip away and begin what he had been hired to do. But he had only just arrived, he needed to wait so as not to bring on any unwanted suspicion.

Why Jefferson thought it was best to send _him_ , Aaron wasn’t sure. James was an equally good thief, better even, more calculating, and it seemed that this job called for...well, better than Aaron Burr. Sure he had a reputation, but reputations got people into trouble.

It probably had something to do with Thomas and James’ high key affair. Yeah, that was probably it.

Aaron pulled at his collar, feeling the anxiety creep in as he stood off to the side, continuing to watch, allowing his eyes to take in the scene before him.

The mansion was beautiful no doubt, the ballroom he stood in was magnificent, high ceilings and great columns surrounding the room. The tables held foods from across the world, anything you could ever want set out before you, and Aaron felt very out of place in the middle of it all.

Foreign dignitaries, politicians, rival gang leaders, each stood together in the room in a sort of harmony. There was no gunfire, no fights, everyone just seemed to be in a peaceful equilibrium.

It _almost_ felt real.

The truth was, no one dared start something in this house, lest the rage of their host befell them. Their host being none other than the ill-famed Marquis de Lafayette, gang leader from France whom, seeing and liking New York very much, took over without so much as a word. There hadn’t been much push back from the city’s underbelly, either.

Because when you pushed the Marquis, the Marquis pushed back, and few survived _that_.

Thinking about this made Aaron incredibly nervous and he tugged at his collar again, downing the last of his drink, trying to hide his shaking hands.

“Nervous, sir?”

Aaron nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the voice beside him. He spun around, searching for whoever had spoken and found himself staring into twinkling and overeager eyes.

“Uh…”

The man standing beside him was short, shorter than Aaron at least, and wore a white frock-like  coat over a white t-shirt. Casual chic was Burr’s first thoughts on the man as he eyed his loose ponytail, but he lost his breath at the sight of the man’s hands.

Beautifully tailored white gloves covered them and immediately Aaron knew who stood before him.

Alexander Hamilton, one of three men who ran with Lafayette.

“I asked if you were feeling nervous, sir?”

Aaron coughed politely, trying to find his voice again and when he did, it was high and anxious.

“I’m _getting_ nervous.”

Hamilton laughed raucously, patting Aaron gently on the arm. He had to fight back a shudder as those gloves touched him, knowing from Hamilton’s own reputation, the blood which had been spilled on that white fabric.

“What’s your name?” he asked, taking Burr by the arm and beginning to walk him through the crowd.

“Aa-” he paused, almost forgetting himself and telling the man his real name. He coughed awkwardly, “Reynolds. James Reynolds.”

“Well, James Reynolds, there’s no need to be nervous, we’re all friends here.”

“I’m afraid my anxiety is...rather superfluous. It’s simply that I’ve never-”

“-been to one of the Marquis’ soiree’s before? You have nothing to worry about Mr. Reynolds, Marie is as gentle as a lamb, when he wants to be.”

The last part was said knowingly, almost dangerously, and his hand tightened on Aaron’s arm. Aaron swallowed nervously. There was no way he could do this job, why the hell had Jefferson sent him into this!? He must have _known_ there was no way!

As far as he could see it, Aaron Burr has two choices.

  1. Make the attempt.



Jefferson had sent him to steal a folder from Lafayette’s desk drawer….in his study….in the bedroom. Now, as far as Aaron knew, this folder contained information on a good few of the powerful political figures in the government. As far as he understood, the information had them wrapped around the Marquis’ finger. And Jefferson wanted it.

Now, if Aaron made the attempt and was caught, well, that’d be it. He wouldn’t be killed, oh no, that would simply be too easy. No, he’d heard the horror stories of those who’d gone up against the Marquis. He didn’t want to become a statistic.

But.

There was a chance, a 1 in a 1,000,000 chance, that’d he’d be able to do it. And that compared with his second option, well;

    2. Go back to Jefferson alive and empty handed.

That would, without a doubt, lead him to his death. Thomas Jefferson was not one to accept the word _“try.”_ You either do it, or die, no ifs, ands, or buts.

There really was no way around it. Aaron rather enjoyed living as it would seem, and maybe if everything _did_ go south, he’d still have time to escape. He needed to take that chance.

Aaron was brought out of his thoughts at the sound of snapping. He blinked, coming back to reality to notice Hamilton snapping his fingers in front of his face.

“You still with us, Reynolds?” he laughed, and Aaron chuckled nervously along.

“I apologize, I was...thinking about something.”

“No problem,” Hamilton said with a smile that Burr almost considered to be genuine, “but I’d like to introduce you.”

“To whom, if I may ask.”

Hamilton nodded ahead and Aaron turned to look forward, coming face to face with someone’s back. It was only when that person turned around that he realized the shit he was in. The figure towered over both Aaron and Hamilton, but the only difference was Hamilton wasn’t about to piss his pants.

This was just not his day.

“Alexander!” the Marquis shouted happily, turning from the group of guests he had surrounded himself with, “Where have you been? We have missed your company.”

As he spoke, Aaron was able to take a good look at the man who kept the criminal underworld quaking in its boots. He was tall and broad, hair tied tightly into a neat bun, in comparison to Hamilton’s slapped together ponytail.

He wore a smart, tight fitting black suit, and a deep purple tie hanging from his collar. His dark eyes drifted from Hamilton on to Aaron, and his smile turned into a leer.

“And what have you brought me?” he asked, looking at Aaron with lidded eyes.

Aaron didn’t speak at first, his mouth hanging open, unsure of exactly what he _could_ say. The man before him held himself tall but lacked the viscous disposition he had heard rumors of. The rumors of his good looks, however, hardly did the man justice.

A sharp elbow to his ribs brought him back to the situation at hand and he coughed awkwardly at the sharply raised eyebrow of the Marquis. His mouth snapped shut and he offered a shaky smile, holding out his hand to shake the other man’s.

“James Reynolds, sir. It is an honor to meet you.”

The Marquis’ leer turned up into a smile and he took Aaron’s hand in his own, raising it to his lips. Aaron’s breathing quickened and his panic began to rise again at the feeling of the man’s lips against his knuckles.

As the man moved away, his eyes never left Burr’s and a blush crept up his neck, making its way to his cheeks. Hamilton and the Marquis laughed heartily at this and Aaron scowled, looking down at his shoes and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I must say, Monsieur Reynolds, and I mean no offense. I did not expect a man such as yourself to be the head of the city’s leading drug cartel.”

Aaron stared at him, thoroughly confused. He’d never said anything about a drug cartel, hell, he’d never even come in contact with anyone affiliated with drug cartels. _Ever!_ Drugs were bad for his business, he needed steady hands and nothing to hold him back. So why did the Marquis-

_Shit._

James Reynolds! Goddamn it! James Reynolds must have been the leader of a drug cartel, and a pretty well known one if Lafayette knew the name. Fucking shit, dammit! Lee had told him Reynolds was a goddamn nobody! That little shit!

He breathed. He couldn’t afford to panic. He needed to do damage control i.e. his best bullshitting.

“And what exactly did you expect from a man such as myself?” he asked, steadying his voice and trying to sound upset.

“I did not mean to offend you,” the Marquis assured, but his voice was condescending, which only made Aaron angry for real, “it is just that you seem rather shy, monsieur. I expected someone more, how you say, aggressive.”

Aaron smiled slyly, raising an eyebrow at the taller man.

“We don’t all have to be aggressive to get what we want, Monsieur Lafayette.”

The taller man’s eyes searched Aaron’s own before he broke out into a large grin. He turned back to Hamilton, who was smiling up at Aaron as well, and Aaron suddenly became very uncomfortable.

“I think we will get along _very_ well, Monsieur Reynolds.” the Frenchman said, putting a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, letting his fingers run across the side of his neck.

Aaron hoped he couldn’t feel his pulse racing.

All of a sudden Hamilton shouted beside him and the Marquis broke contact, allowing Aaron to breath as the two men spun around, grinning widely. While their backs were turned, Aaron snatched another glass of champagne from a waiter, downing it in one go and putting it back on the tray.

“Hey Reynolds,” Aaron turned around again at Hamilton’s voice, and smiled his best fake smile, “meet John Laurens and Hercules Mulligan.”

Aaron’s smile faltered at the sight of the two other men standing next to Hamilton and the Marquis, eyeing Aaron casually, but he could tell there was nothing casual about this whole situation. He’d heard about these two as well.

John Laurens took his hand first, not even waiting for Aaron to raise it. His youthful and enthusiastic face betrayed nothing of the calculating soldier he was known to be, but Aaron could see a fire in his eyes and felt the scars on his hand as he held it. Laurens was the Marquis' hit-man, and he did a fine job of it too, you never heard about him in the news, never any innocents involved. He did it clean, precise, perfectly.

“A pleasure, Reynolds.” the man said with a grin, and Aaron smiled back hesitantly.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Laurens.”

“Ooo, he’s so genteel.” Laurens commented to Lafayette, a southern twinge in his words.

“Mr. Reynolds.” the man who must have been Hercules Mulligan greeted, elbowing Laurens, who was still grinning, and holding out his own hand to Aaron.

“Mr. Mulligan.” Aaron responded in wonder, grasping the man’s hand firmly in his own.

No one really knew what Hercules Mulligan looked like, he was the Marquis’ own spy, better than anything Jefferson could scrounge up. Aaron took in the man’s pleasant smile and tight grip, attempting to memorize him in his entirety. No one ever saw Hercules Mulligan, he was in and out of a job faster than it took for the target to take a shit.

“I’m honored, sir. You truly are a genius at your craft.”

Mulligan laughed, a deep and genuine laugh, releasing Aaron’s hand and taking a glass of champagne.

“Not many people know my reputation, Mr. Reynolds. I’m pleased I could impress you.”

Aaron suddenly felt very small under the gaze of the four men, now standing beside one another and gazing at him. He coughed awkwardly, unsure of what to say, and not exactly wanting to say anything at all.

“This is Mr. Reynolds first invitation.” Hamilton whispered to Lafayette in supposed explanation of Aaron’s nervousness.

“ _N_ _on_ ,” the Marquis looked affronted, “then there are persons you simply must meet, monsieur. Come.”

He had no choice. Aaron followed the Marquis as he mingled, being introduced to the rich and powerful, John Laurens hanging off his shoulder, because apparently Aaron was the perfect height to be a standing pole. And Aaron didn’t dare say anything against it.

He was surprised by how pleasant each of the men was. He was able to discuss politics with Hamilton without the threat of a gun in his face like with Jefferson, Mulligan knew a surprising amount about fashion and even disclosed to Aaron that as well as the Marquis’ spy, he was the man’s tailor.

Aaron even told Laurens he’d like the man to teach him to fight, to which the hit-man looked like an excited puppy. Aaron almost felt bad that it wouldn’t happen, because as soon as the job was done, he was running as far as he could and not looking back. Maybe he’d be able to hide himself in Mexico or something.

It was the peak time of the party when Aaron decided it was time. He tried to excuse himself multiple times, saying he needed to go home, he had a call to make, another bullshit excuse, and each time, he was pulled back by the pleading of Laurens and Hamilton, or the heavy grip of the Marquis himself.

Finally, Aaron had enough, scowling to himself as he looked for a way out. Slipping away would only instill suspicion, he needed an excuse. His eyes landed on a waiter carrying a new tray of champagne. What was a new suit to being able to keep breathing?

Trying to look as nonchalant as possible, Aaron waited until the waiter was near and stuck his foot out slightly. As planned, the man tripped suddenly, the tray crashing to the ground and the champagne glasses crashing into Aaron.

“Shit, I’m so sorry sir,” the waiter apologized and Aaron waved him off, trying to bite back the grin at the sight of ruined dress shirt.

“It’s alright, it’s alright.” he reassured, hoping that the poor man wouldn’t get into too much trouble because of it. Maybe he’d leave a note after he finished the job.

Lafayette tisked, waving the man away and looking down at Aaron.

“You will have to change, come, I have shirts-”

“No!” he nearly shouted, before clearing his throat, “I’m sure it’ll come out. Is there a washroom where I can take care of this?”

“Of course.” he pointed through the crowd to a hallway, and Aaron nodded his thanks, slipping away as the four men watched him.

Hamilton leaned against Laurens, a smile on both men’s lips.

“He’s cute.” Laurens commented, looking up at the Frenchman beside him.

The Marquis grinned, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

“Oui, very cute.”

* * *

This was the part Aaron was good at. Not the acting, the lying, the infiltration. No, what he was good at was the sneaking, the silence, the stealing. He walked down the hall, head held high as he passed the bathroom, looking to the world like he belonged there. Like he wasn’t about to attempt to pull off the most dangerous heist in his young life.

He crept down the corridor carefully, having looked at a layout of the house before arriving, he knew which door led to the upstairs landing where the Marquis' rooms were. He reminded himself to look over his targets as well, as Lee had nearly ruined everything with his lack of information on Reynolds.

Upon reaching a large set of ornate stairs, Aaron skipped up the steps, his shoes making the minimum amount of noise possible as he kept an ear out for any other noise around him. Reaching the second floor, Aaron counted the doors as he snuck through the corridors, looking for the fourth door in the third hallway.

He scoffed when he found it.

Large, carved oak double doors stood before him with golden doorknobs on both halves. The moment he pulled open one of the doors and stepped into the room, he was all business. He immediately unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt, loosening the tie, allowing him to breath easier as he silently shut the door and took in his surroundings.

He stood in the bedroom proper, an enormous canopy bed situated by the wall in the middle of the room, dark satin sheets covering it and lending the room a sultry allure. Aaron rolled his eyes. It was almost as if the Marquis was trying too hard.

He crossed the room, eyes catching sight of the door across the way, the one he knew led into the study. As he walked, he couldn’t help but notice the bookcase up against the wall. His eyes scanned the titles, impressed and more than a little envious of the collection which was held in the shelves. But he didn’t have time for that now.

As quietly as he could, he slipped through the door, shutting it and turning to face the large desk in the center of the room. Setting his jaw, he clenched his hands to stop them from shaking. He took a few shaky steps towards it, kneeling down behind it and eyeing the drawers.

He had been told there was a compartment underneath the desk, locked and hidden, which held the files Jefferson wanted. Moving the large leather chair out of the way, Aaron slid underneath, much like a mechanic at work on a car, he pulled out his tools from inside his suit jacket and began to pick the lock.

It wasn’t easy, whoever made the lock had done a good job at making it difficult to crack. But this was what Aaron was best at. He kept his ear cocked for each click as he moved the lockpicks around inside. It was a good twenty minutes of lying on his back, listening patiently, before finally the last click sounded and Aaron was able to remove his tools.

Gently, he tugged at the small handle on the hidden drawer, pulling it out entirely, both hands securely on the wood before shuffling out from underneath the desk. Sighing with relief and feeling the tension in his chest dissipate, he looked inside the drawer he had removed, ready to take the notes.

He froze.

His heart felt like it was being squeezed and his chest constricted, like all the air had been forced out of his lungs.

The drawer was empty.

“No.” he murmured, shaking the drawer upside down, scratching at the bottom in a desperate attempt to find the notes, “ _No, no, no, no!_ ”

He threw the drawer to the side, not caring about the crash it made as he threw open each drawer in the desk, searching under papers, emptying entire contents onto the floor of the study, and then slamming each one shut.

“It’s not here.” Aaron’s voice was weak, desperate, shaking. “It’s not fucking here!”

This wasn’t right. Jefferson had told him they had a spy on the inside, that they knew the folder was inside the desk in a hidden drawer underneath. He’d assured Aaron that it was there, that all he had to do was grab it and go. But there was nothing.

He’d been set up.

Aaron felt the mounting panic as his throat closed up and his hands began to shake. He needed to run, there was still a chance that he could make it out of this alive, but he had to go  _n_ _ow_. He jumped up, racing towards the door and practically flying through it into the bedroom.

His hands were on the handles of the double doors, ready to swing them open and run for his life, when he heard voices on the other side.

Fuck it all to hell, it was the Marquis and his boys.

He stepped away, hands still up, and his eyes flashing across the room, looking for a way out. There were no windows, neither here nor in the study, there was too much risk of being caught under the bed, and when would he be able to escape if he did hide there? He was trapped.

“Holy shit.” he mumbled to himself, frozen in place. There was no where to go, they’d catch him, guilty as all-

His mind suddenly settled on an idea so stupid that it might keep him alive. He’d heard the saying “so overt it’s covert” but this was taking it to a whole new level.

So when the Marquis de Lafayette entered his rooms with his three companions, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Except for Aaron, lazily leaning against the bookshelf, thumbing through a volume of The Aeneid.

“Monsieur Reynolds.” Lafayette acknowledged, surprise written on his face as Hamilton leaned around him to get a look inside the room.

Aaron looked up from the book, attempting to steady his beating heart at the sight of the four men who would bring about his death with the smallest mistake. Slapping on a light smile, he took on the picture of innocence.

“Monsieur Lafayette,” he greeted pleasantly, shutting the book in his hand, “I apologise most profusely. I seem to have gotten myself incredibly lost on the way to your washroom, and then, unfortunately, fell victim to your impeccable library.”

Lafayette stepped fully into the room, followed by the three other men, each taking a place around the bedroom, watching Aaron with interested eyes.

“You seem to have found your way into my bedroom, monsieur.” the Marquis strolled towards where Aaron stood by the bookshelf, “A lesser man than I would see this as an invitation.”

Aaron swallowed, watching the man approach with wary eyes. He took the book in his hand and placed it back on the shelf, straightening himself and folding his hands behind his back.

“I was unaware I had trespassed in your chambers sir,” that’s right, keep it polite, indifferent, “I apologise, and will be on my way. The party was lovely.”

“Where’s the fire, Reynolds?” a voice by his ear asked, and Aaron’s breath hitched, “Stay awhile.”

Hamilton’s gloved hands gripped his wrists, thumb stroking the veins there, and Aaron gritted his teeth.

“I really must insist, gentlemen.” his voice shook only slightly, trying to release his hands from Hamilton’s.

“You didn’t even take care of your shirt, Mr. Reynolds,” Mulligan called from his spot by the door, “The stain has probably set. Now that’s a real shame.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Aaron answered, not even bothering to look down at his shirt.

Hamilton’s breath was on his neck, the Marquis was closing in slowly, and Laurens and Mulligan took their own slow steps towards him. He was trapped, though this wasn’t exactly the type of trapped he’d expected.

Lafayette was now standing toe to toe with him, leaning down to look Aaron in the eye. Hamilton’s hands tightened around his own as the frenchman leaned in, his nose grazing Aaron’s neck slightly. The shorter man’s breathing sped up and he scowled at the Marquis’ smile when he realized this.

Finally, Lafayette’s lips came up to his cheek, pressing softly against his skin for a prolonged moment before;

“I do not enjoy being lied to Monsieur.”

Aaron’s world stopped.

Fuck.

His heel came down hard on Hamilton’s foot and the man cried out, releasing Aaron’s hands in surprise. Aaron swung his leg back out, kicking the Marquis square in the kneecap. He didn’t stay to watch the man go down, only shoved passed Mulligan and Laurens in their surprise, flying through the double doors and out into the hall.

_“Allez, allez! Apportez lui revenir ici! Allez!”_

He heard them come through the doors as he raced down the hall, felt Laurens’ eyes on him like he was his next kill, heard the man’s hearty _W_ _HOOP_ as he chased Burr. This was not how it was supposed to go! Laurens’ fingers grazed his back like a wolf’s teeth against the hind legs of it’s prey.

What he didn’t see was Mulligan come silently from around the corner, what looked like a whip in hand. Aaron felt it though, as he passed the man, heard the crack and suddenly he was falling, the rope tangled around his ankles.

Laurens was on top of him in the next second and Aaron struggled, flipping onto his back, attempting to push, shove, bite, kick, anything to get the man off. Then his hand was around Burr’s neck and Aaron stilled, feeling the pressure closing around his windpipe.

He snarled up at the soldier, who only grinned down at him. Mulligan came up behind Laurens, an almost deceptively calm look on his face. He knelt down beside Aaron, taking the man’s jaw in his hand and turning him to face him. He didn’t look at Aaron as he spoke;

“There’s one thing no one ever told you.” he hummed, “Never trust Thomas Jefferson.”

The last thing he saw was Laurens’ fist coming down on him and the rest was black.

* * *

Aaron blinked awake, groaning as he felt a sharp pain in his back. He tried to move his hands to massage his pounding head but he found he couldn’t. He felt the panic rising as he shook the last of the fuzziness from his mind and took in his surroundings.

He was back in the bedroom, sitting on the floor, his hands tied to one of the bedposts behind his back. He tugged at the ropes that held him but whoever tied them was no amature. He looked up and around him, seeing that the four men were still in the room with him.

The Marquis was pacing the length of the room, speaking to someone on the phone rapidly in french. Hamilton was standing by the wall with Mulligan, who was grinning and tapping the shorter man’s foot with his own, laughing every time Hamilton winced.

 _‘Good,’_ Aaron thought, _‘I hope I broke it.’_

He was startled by Laurens appearing beside him, a grin of his own on his face as he looked at Burr.

“You may end up needing those fighting lessons,” he said quietly, not wanting to disturb his boss on the phone, “you fight like a child.”

The young man ran a thumb over Aaron’s face and he winced at the pressure. He must have a bruise from where Laurens’ knocked him out. He turned to face him, snarling.

“I knocked your boss down pretty easy.” he challenged.

“That’s because Gilbert doesn’t _practice_.” the last word was directed to the Marquis, who had finally come off the phone and was watching Aaron with a smile.

“I have many more important things to be doing, John. I leave the fighting to you.”

All eyes were on Aaron again and he squirmed under their gaze, glaring as darkly as he could at each man.

“What do you think, Hercules?” the frenchman asked and the spy stepped away from the wall, appraising Aaron as if he were a racehorse.

“He’s good, could definitely use some work though. Jefferson taught him some bad habits but he's salvageable.”

“And you would be willing?”

“Of course.”

Lafayette hummed, watching Aaron with the same look as Mulligan, as if he were about to buy him and was assessing his options. Aaron only growled low, tugging at the rope again. The frenchman chuckled, putting the phone in his back pocket.

“Now Monsieur, you are not James Reynolds, oui? Would you care to divulge your true name?”

“I’d rather not,  _M_ _onsieur_.” Aaron spat.

“If we are to keep you,” Lafayette continued, ignoring Aaron’s snarl, “we should know your true name, non?”

“What do you mean _keep?_ ” Aaron’s heart was pounding as he looked between the four men.

“It would seem,” Lafayette sauntered up to the man, staring down at him, his grin all teeth and his eyes dark, “that you were meant as a peace offering.”

“W-what?”

“Monsieur Jefferson sent you to steal from me, oui?”

“Yes.”

“ _Non_ ,” the Marquis said with a laugh, “he sent you _for_ me.”

“Get to the goddamn point!” Aaron shouted, fear tainting his voice as it shook.

Lafayette crouched down in front of him, taking his jaw in his hand and squeezing, smiling a little when Aaron yowled, the frenchman’s fingers pushing down on the bruise on his face. Aaron tried to move his face, to release the hold the man had on it, but the Marquis held fast.

“Ah, hush now,” he cooed softly loosening his grip slightly, “You see, Monsieur Jefferson and I, we do not always get along, and this can lead to much blood. He has recently though, suggested a truce of sorts, a forced stalemate if you will.”

“And he sent _you_ to sweeten the pot.” Hamilton grinned from where he stood against the wall. “See, Herc here is a spy, no doubt. The absolute best. But he can’t crack a lock for shit.”

Hercules scowled at Alexander.

No, no there was no way. He’d worked with Jefferson and Madison for years, he’d have done anything for the man, trusted him with his life. Aaron tried pulling away again, not meeting the Marquis’ eyes, instead choosing to scowl at the room’s rug.

“Monsieur,” Lafayette said, moving in an attempt to catch his eye, “you have no choice in this matter. You belong to us now, oui? So, you can either tell us your name or-”

He paused for a moment, looking at his men around the room with a grin to match theirs.

“-we will give you one.”

Aaron started, whipping his head around with large eyes as laughter filled the room. His mouth sunk into a scowl as the Marquis released his face from his hand.

“So which’ll it be?” Laurens asked from beside him. Aaron shot him a glare, flexing his jaw.

“Burr. Aaron Burr.”

Smiles lit up the four men’s faces and Aaron looked down at his lap, beginning to feel like the world was slipping out from beneath him.

“Alexander, telephone Monsieur Jefferson and tell him we accept.”

“Oh what?” Hamilton sulked, “But I hate that guy.”

“Oui, perhaps you will be able to appropriately convey our little Aaron’s feelings on this whole matter.”

“I’ll give him an earful for you, Burr.” The shorter man grinned, sending a wink to Aaron.

He pulled out his phone and strutted out of the room. The Marquis gave Laurens a small nod and the young man undid the ropes binding Aaron to the bedpost. Aaron didn’t lash out, didn’t fight, only rubbed his wrists and cringing as bruises began to form like bracelets around them.

Jefferson had set him up, sent him to become the thief of some man he’d only ever heard rumors about. Lied straight to his face and used him as gratuity.

Lafayette watched the man as he rubbed his wrists, the scowl on his face melting into something else, something akin to acceptance as he bowed his head.

“Perhaps we should allow Mr. Burr some time, oui?” he turned to Hercules who nodded, exiting the room and leaving the door open for Lafayette to follow. Laurens hopped up, ruffling Aaron’s hair and laughing as the man snapped at him.

“Welcome to the team, Burr.”

Finally alone with the frenchman, Aaron lifted his head, all fight gone from his face, replaced with a look of betrayal. Lafayette sighed, looking at the man square in the eye and offering a resigned smile.

“It will not be so bad, Monsieur Burr. You were loyal to Jefferson, now you are loyal to us. It is as simple as all that.”

“Nothing is as simple as all that.” Aaron responded.

“Non, I suppose not. However now is not the time to think on it. Perhaps you would feel better in a room of your own, oui? Hercules will begin training you in the morning.”

“Training me?” Aaron stared up, confused.

The Marquis grinned, getting to his feet and offering a hand to Aaron.

“Oui. You are my thief now, Monsieur Burr, and I only accept the best.”

Burr’s brows furrowed, thinking over his situation. He stared at the Marquis hand warily, before sighing and taking it, allowing himself to be pulled up and led to the door.

“As John so graciously put it,” Lafayette grinned, “Welcome to the team, Burr.”


	2. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BETRAYAL  
> (v.) to disappoint the hopes or expectations of; be disloyal to:

Aaron didn’t sleep that night, rather choosing to pace continuously in the room chosen for him by the Marquis. It was beautifully furnished of course, but he barely noticed, his shoulders stiff as he walked the length of the room and back again like a caged tiger. He growled between his teeth, feeling rage fill his chest.

He kicked at the chest of drawers by the bed, snarling, clenching and unclenching his hands. His mind was whirling and his eyes blurred. He wanted to escape, run as fast and far as he could, get out, get away.

But he knew he wouldn’t get far. The Marquis had people everywhere, he’d barely make it out of the state. 

“Fuck this.” he hissed, “Fuck it all!”

He needed to calm down, get his head right. Any emotion could be seen as weakness and an opening for the Marquis and his boys. He couldn’t let them see him as anything other than what he was.

A thief. Cool, calculating, collected. 

Aaron sighed, unbuttoning his dress shirt and going into the bathroom. He felt awful and looked it too as he glared at himself in the mirror. Sure enough, a large bruise was forming on the side of his face, dark and angry. Aaron grimaced, turning his head to get a better look at it in the light. He ran a hand over it lightly and winced, reminding himself never to go up against Laurens again.

Turning on the tap, he splashed his face with cold water, blinking rapidly, trying to get his thoughts in order. He blinked at his reflection tiredly, his eyes sad. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

From out of the mirror, he saw his door open gently and Alexander Hamilton enter his room, his arms full of...something. Hamilton looked around and Aaron almost smirked at the panicked expression taking over his face. Until the man noticed him in the bathroom, staring. 

“Burr! I thought you’d escaped us for a second. Glad to see you’re adjusting!”

“I’m not.” Aaron replied firmly, reaching for a towel and drying his face, “What do you want?”

“We’ve got clothes for you, until we can get Hercules to tailor you some new threads.”

He exited the bathroom, stepping up to the bed and scrutinizing the clothes. They were simple, certainly nothing he usually wore while he worked. There was a pair of jeans, a couple of sweaters and t-shirts, and the like. Hamilton threw a pair of sweatpants and a tanktop in his direction and Aaron caught them with ease.

“You should get some sleep, Burr,” the man commented, and Aaron saw his eyes roving over his body, landing on his open shirt and bare chest.

“I’d rather not.” his voice was stiff, “Frankly I don’t trust you or anyone else in this house so I’d rather keep both eyes open, if it’s all the same.”

“Aw, c’mon Burr. Why would we do anything to you? You’re  _ our  _ thief! It’d be kinda counterproductive to-”

“I’m no one’s thief.” Aaron hissed out, “I’m not a  _ thing  _ to be owned.”

“Woah, chill Burr, it’s just an expression.” Hamilton held up his hands placatingly. 

Aaron didn’t respond, only glared harshly, taking the clothes in his hands with him back into the bathroom, and slamming the door shut behind him. He listened to Hamilton sigh from the other side and the door to his room shut as the man left, before Aaron looked down at the clothes in his hands.

He began to strip, his muscles aching as he took off his shirt and unbuckled his belt, letting his pants fall to the floor. A wave of exhaustion hit him and he set the clothes on the countertop, rubbing his eyes which were becoming heavy. 

The shower on the other side of the room called to him and Aaron felt his shoulders hunch over slightly, thinking of the warm water on his skin, soothing his sore muscles and calming the bruises on his body from the fight. Removing the rest of his clothes, he set them aside, going over to the tub and turning on the water.

The shower did not disappoint, the warm water rolling over him almost therapeutically, steady, keeping Aaron grounded. He leaned back against the wall, breathing in the steam and enjoying the warmed air inside the shower.   

His thoughts went back to the men he supposed he would be working for for the foreseeable future, and ultimately, to the words he’d said to Hamilton. 

He wasn’t a piece of property, something to be traded and kept and thrown away. His heart clenched, thinking about Thomas, knowing that he was all but selling Aaron, telling him to take the mission. He hadn’t even batted an eyelash when he’d explained it to Burr, and they worked together to figure the ins and outs, just as they always did.

Nothing had seemed off.

Was it really that easy to bargain away a friend? Unless...well, maybe it was only Aaron who thought of them as friends. Maybe Thomas didn’t even like him. That would explain why it had been so easy. 

And did James know? When he shook his hand and wished him good luck as he always did before Aaron went off on a heist, did he know that Aaron wasn’t coming back?

His mouth twisted into a scowl. Betrayal. That’s what he felt. Well, if either party thought Aaron was going to take this sitting down, they were wrong. Maybe trying to escape wasn’t so bad an idea, if only to send the message that he wasn’t about to roll over and become the Marquis’ newest bitch.

Shutting off the water, Aaron stepped out of the tub, drying himself off before wiping the mirror to look himself in the eye. There was no way he was staying in this house, not before he got a chance to talk to Thomas. And he had a feeling the new management wouldn’t exactly go for that idea. 

Aaron wrapped the towel around himself, not planning on wearing the pajamas given to him. Sweatpants weren’t exactly the best for breakouts, but he could do it in jeans.The pile of clothes were still on his bed when he re-entered his room, and he sifted through them, pulling on whatever was the darkest, which happened to be a pair of black pants and a navy sweater. He could blend in with these. 

As he pulled on the clothes, there came a knock at his door. He opened it carefully, blinking when he saw a young man in a dark suit staring up at him.

“Yes?”

“Excuse me, sir. But Mr. Hamilton said you’re to be kept under guard.”

Aaron glared, about to tell the man that Mr. Hamilton could go jump off a cliff, until he noticed the gun poking out of the man’s belt. A thought occurred to him and his mouth snapped into a very convincing tired smile.

“Am I not to be trusted in this house?”

The boy laughed, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. He mustn’t have been very experienced. Burr almost felt sorry for him, but not quite.

“It’s not my place to ask sir.”

“Of course,” Aaron replied amicably, “would you like to come in here, rather than stand out in the hallway all night?”

The boy tugged at his collar, looking up and down the halls before staring back at Aaron. He put on his best smile, batted his eyelashes, and opened the door just a little wider. Finally the young man smiled slightly, and nodded.

“Alright, I don’t see why not.”

He came in and Aaron shut the door quietly behind them, moving past him towards the bed.

“There is a chair right there,” he mentioned, “I’m afraid it might get rather boring, watching me, I was just about to go to sleep. It’s been...quite a day.”

“So I’ve heard.” he took the chair, staring around the room with interest. “Not to sound too bold, but it all sounded very exciting.”

Aaron hummed, eyeing the gold candelabra on the dresser.

“Certainly working for the Marquis must be equally exciting.” he prodded, sounding incredibly interested.

“Not really, to tell the truth I don’t get to do much. I...well, I work under Mr. Mulligan. He knew my mum, and when she died he convinced the Marquis to take me in.”

“I see.” the boy’s story sounded very familiar to Aaron, and he sighed, “What’s your name, young man?”

“Cato, sir!” he answered brightly. Aaron hummed in response, before hissing in pain.

“Is everything alright, sir?” the boy asked, standing from the chair.

“I think an old wound of mine may have become infected. Would you come take a look?”

Cato came to his side immediately, the poor boy’s eyes wide with concern and fear. He really hated to do this, Cato seemed like a good kid, but he needed to get out of here.

“I am actually very sorry about this, Cato.”

“About what, sir-”

Aaron brought the candelabra down against Cato’s skull and he collapsed to the floor. Letting out a shaky breath, Burr dropped the candle holder and knelt down to check his pulse. He was still breathing, but he’d have a monstrous headache when he woke up.

“I’m sorry.” he muttered again, grabbing the gun from his belt and checking it. It was fully loaded and Burr thanked God for his luck.

Walking up to the door, Aaron listened for footfalls outside and eventually began his pacing again. He hadn’t had time to study the habits of the four men as he had with Jefferson, so he didn’t know when they slept or if they slept in shifts, or even _where_ they slept. 

For all he knew, Laurens slept in front of the door.

But he couldn’t wait. He wasn’t about to stay in this place a minute longer, not tonight. Checking the clock, seeing that it was nearing 1:00 in the morning, Aaron decided to leave his room. He cracked open the door, looking both ways before exiting, his feet silent on the carpeted floor.

The house was quiet as he went, and he pondered how long it had been since he first left the party. He stopped at the top floor landing, peeking out from behind the wall. He saw guests leaving, with the Marquis and his three men standing by the door, waving cheerful goodbyes and shaking hands.

Oh what he wouldn’t give to be able to walk past them now, to freedom.

But he couldn’t.  He crept along the hallways, staying away from the railing, staying in the shadows and near the walls as much as he could. He let out a breath, continuing down the corridors until he came to one leading along the back of the top floor.

He followed it, reaching a set of well worn stairs leading down into what he assumed to be the basement. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he descended, pushing himself against the wall. As Aaron reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard a pair of voices, and, peaking through the door at the end of the passage, he saw that he was at the kitchen.

“I’m taking the trash out, Sophie!” a voice called and Aaron heard the sound of shoes clicking past the door.

“Sure, but don’t lock yourself out again, Bellamy, or I’m going to leave you out there.”

Opening the door only a crack, he watched as the woman strutted out of the kitchen, four glasses of red wine on a tray in her hand. But honestly, Burr was more interested in the man currently tying up the trash. 

He watched him pass the door, staying in the shadows, his eyes following him as he turned a corner. Aaron himself emerged and followed, keeping a distance, but his heart leapt into his throat when he saw him go out the back door.

His hand rested on the gun in his belt and he slipped out after him. 

Poor Jonathan Bellamy was unaware of the criminal standing behind him until he felt the muzzle of a gun pushed gently against the back of his head.

“Do you have a car?” Aaron asked, his voice shaking and somewhat raspy.

Bellamy turned slowly, his hands up and eyes wide as they looked at the gun and back up at Aaron. 

“ _A car!_   _Do you have a car!?”_

“You’re the one they caught, the thief! You’re not supposed to be here!”

Burr growled in annoyance and he cocked the gun, the distinct click making Bellamy breath sharply.

“I do not have time for this. Do you have a car?”

“Yes.” Jonathan met Aaron’s eyes, and his breathing quickened at the sight of him, eyes wide and breathing hard. There was fear in his eyes, Jon could see that.

“I need you to drive me somewhere.”

* * *

The car ride with Bellamy was silent, mostly because Aaron was trying to figure out what to do next, and to get his shaking hands under control. They’d gotten free of the house easy enough, and unease churned in the pit of Aaron’s stomach.

He hated when things were easy.

“So. You must be in some pretty hot water, huh? With that...that gun and all.”

“Please don’t talk.” Aaron sighed. He was so tired.

“Yep, sure I can do that, no talking, you got it.”

Aaron sent the man a sideways glance and a small smile crept up his face.

“I’m sorry about this, is that helps any.” he said, and Bellamy simply shrugged.

“Hey as long as you don’t shoot me, I’m cool with it. Just...don’t tell anyone it was me who helped you. I know who you are. I know I really wasn’t supposed to do this.”

“My lips are sealed.”

They pulled up in front of a small building. Jefferson’s offices. This late at night, Jefferson would be working, if not preparing to go home to James. Thomas always worked at night, he preferred to spend the mornings at home.

Aaron stepped slowly out of the car, told Bellamy to leave, and listened as the tires screech on the street and the car speeds away. He skipped up the steps to the door, ringing the small doorbell, shaking slightly with both the cold and his own apprehension.

A man opened the door.

“Is Mr. Jefferson expecting you?” he asked.

“No. He. Is. Not.” Burr snarled out, shoving past the man and ignoring his shouts of indignation as he raced up the stairs, throwing open the door to the main office.

There, sitting behind a large oak desk, papers in his hands, was Thomas Jefferson. He didn’t look all too impressive right then, but this was how Aaron knew him, reading glasses low on his nose, suit jacket thrown over his chair and sleeves rolled up, eyes tired.

“Reading anything interesting?” Aaron asked, feeling his head suddenly begin to swim.

The look on Jefferson’s face when he saw Aaron standing in the doorway was priceless. If only Aaron had a camera...then he could smash it over that prissy jackasses head. 

“Burr.” Jefferson said, his voice filled with slight awe as he pushed himself out from behind the desk, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“How did I get away from that french fucker, you mean?” Aaron seethed, his hands curling into fists, “Well it wasn’t easy, I can tell you that.”

“Burr take a seat,” he said, pulling out the chair on the other side of the desk. His voice held something like concern but Aaron called bullshit, “Just calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down!? YOU SOLD ME OUT YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” Aaron was screaming over the ringing in his ears, “I TRUSTED YOU!”

“Aaron, stop. You’re bleeding, you need to sit down-” Jefferson took a step towards him, arm out to help the smaller man, but Aaron flinched back, hand going for the gun in his belt.

“You stay away from me, you lying sack of shit.” his hand shook as he pulled out the gun, aiming it at Jefferson.

Jefferson’s eyes became dangerously dark and his concerned face melted into a hard scowl. He moved fast, and Aaron only had time to blink before he was rushed against the wall with another gun under his chin and Jefferson slamming his hand back again and again until he dropped his own gun.

“YOU DON’T PUT A GUN IN MY FACE, BURR, YOU GOT THAT!?” he screamed, “YOU DON’T PULL STUPID SHIT LIKE THAT ON ME! Now listen! Listen to me, Burr!”

Aaron looked him in the eye, glaring up at the man with as much hate as he could muster. Jefferson dug the muzzle of the gun harder into his face and moved his other hand to hold the back of his head. 

“Listen,” he hissed again, “we all gotta make sacrifices. I did what I had to do, Aaron. You’ve met him, he wasn’t about to stop, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna let him take over my streets. So we compromised. I hate that it had to be you, but I’m not sorry.”

He released Aaron roughly, pushing him back against the wall before going back over to his desk. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, bringing one up to his lips and lighting it with a gilded lighter. He took a long drag, observing Aaron intently. 

Aaron himself sagged against the wall, exhausted, hurt, and confused. 

“James hates it when you smoke.” he commented lightly, not looking up at Jefferson, only staring at the floor, his eyes empty.

“What am I going to do with you, Burr?” Thomas muttered, running a hand through his hair, leaning back against his desk. “I can’t have you here, it would start a war.”

Aaron shook his head, eyes moving to the window. It was raining softly now, tapping against the glass. He sighed deeply, unsure of what to do. He hadn’t stopped since the party, everything seemed jumbled together.

He was tired.

“Why did you come, Burr? What did you expect to do here? Kill me?”

“I don’t want to kill you, Thomas.” Aaron shook his head, “I just...I didn’t believe it.”

“Yeah, well, sacrifices-”

“-have to be made, yeah, I got that.”

Jefferson regarded him from where he stood, flicking ash into the ash tray.

“You have to leave, Burr.” Jefferson said, putting out his cigarette, “I don’t care where you go, but don’t come back here. I can’t do anything for you.”

Aaron’s eyes were heavy. He looked at Thomas almost pleadingly, but the man turned away. Burr put his head in his hands and his breathing quickened and if there were tears streaming down his face when he looked back up, Jefferson didn’t mention it.

He exited the room, numb and stumbling, out onto the dark streets. The lamp lights were his only guides as he walked down the sidewalk, the rain falling lightly on his face. He didn’t...he didn’t know what to do now. What was he going to do?

All of a sudden, he was illuminated by a pair of headlights. He turned around, seeing an expensive looking black car coming straight towards him, the windows tinted.

The car screeched up onto the sidewalk, making Burr jump backwards to avoid being hit. The door swung open and when Aaron saw who it was, his eyes widened and he began to back away.

**_“Burr!”_ ** Hamilton’s shout resounded through the dark street, low and furious as he marched towards him.

Before he could break out into a run, Aaron felt a pair of hands grab him from behind, fingers digging into his arms, likely to leave bruises. He was spun around, coming face to face with Mulligan, whose eyes flashing in the light of the streetlamp.

Burr didn’t see him raise his fist, but he felt it slam across his face, and he nearly collapsed, but Mulligan’s hold on him was steady.

“That was for Cato.” 

He glared up at the spy, blood flowing freely from his broken nose. 

“Get him in the fucking car.” Hamilton said from behind them, and Aaron was suddenly being shoved roughly towards the black vehicle. 

He was all but thrown into the car, scrambling to sit up as Mulligan and Hamilton entered after him, their faces dark. 

The car itself was lavish, a small bar on one side, a bottle of wine held in ice, and a space between two benches of seats facing each other. It was dark inside, and Aaron could barely make out the shape of Mulligan sitting beside him, or Hamilton across from him. Something moved in the shadows beside the small man.

“Drive, Laurens.” 

As they pulled away from the curb, a match was struck inside the car from beside Hamilton. Aaron let out a quiet, exhausted sigh as the light illuminated the face of the Marquis who lit a cigarette, taking a long, slow drag, his eyes never leaving Aaron.

“Quelle perte de temps.” he muttered to himself, blowing smoke in Aaron’s face. “I wonder, Monsieur Burr, if you are more trouble than you are worth.”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.” Aaron replied with a wry smile, and was answered by Mulligan's fist connecting with his face for a second time.

“I do not enjoy games, Monsieur Burr.” the Marquis said, his voice deceptively calm. He took another drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke, again, in Aaron’s face. “And I do not tolerate defiance. Do you understand?”

Aaron didn’t answer, only stared out the window as they sped down the streets. He didn’t even react when Lafayette reached over and slapped him lightly across the face.

“Listen well, little Burr. This will _not_ happen again, one way or another, it will _not_.”

When they returned to the house, Aaron was manhandled out of the car. Laurens’ hand was tight around his arm as he was dragged back inside. The house was quiet, everyone gone, and their shoes echoed against the tiled floor. 

He was thrown back in his room and the door was slammed shut behind him. He heard the distinct click of the lock and listened for Laurens’ footsteps. Only, there weren't any. He heard shuffling outside his door and finally a light thump. The man was sitting in front of his door, and Burr expected that he wouldn't be moving anytime soon.

Sitting down on the bed heavily, Aaron sighed. He looked at the clock. It was 7:00 now. The sun would be coming up. He slipped down from the bed onto the floor, leaning his head back against the mattress and letting out a shaky breath.

And if a few stray tears slipped from his eyes?

Well, nobody needed to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Well!? What'dy'all think? We get to see Thomas, not in gangster mode, but we do get to see him! Also isn't Cato the best? Yeah, he is. Also, Bellamy! The unsuspecting waiter who has no idea what's going on! My poor, kind of dense son!
> 
> So the plan with this is that yes I will be continuing it, but the updates will not be scheduled and I'll be writing it in my spare time, so don't expect regular updates. I'll do what I can. ;) I do love this verse though.

**Author's Note:**

> I worked on this when I SHOULD be working on my chapters for my stories. But I couldn't get this out of my head, and I hope ya'll like it. I MIGHT do more of this verse but I'm not sure.


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